


Most Beginnings Start with an End

by GrumpyBones



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Banter is the new flirting, Being a brat in lieu of expressing your emotions, Conspiring is my love language, I have once again intentionally forgotten, M/M, Post-Star Trek (2009), Pre-Five Year Mission, that they expect me to believe Spocks gay ass is dating Uhura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:49:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24648250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyBones/pseuds/GrumpyBones
Summary: After literally saving the world, walking across a gaudily decorated stage to be handed a scroll-work littered piece of paper in front of what's left of his graduating class seems more like a futile swerve towards normalcy than it does anything that Spock ought to endure as an obligation of friendship. Even if Kirkismostly sure that's what they are.Congratulations to the Starfleet Academy class of 2258. You did it! We think.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 20
Kudos: 92





	Most Beginnings Start with an End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pageling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pageling/gifts).



> Page -- you graduated college and I wrote a story that's a reasonable length _on time._ We're obviously both thriving. 
> 
> I'm so proud of you, for all you've accomplished and all you've endured and your sheer determination to look like a bad ass the entire way through it. I can't _begin_ to tell you how much I admire the determination and the sense of humor you've refused to let go of through all of this. You're an incredible example of a human being and I thank the space frogs every day that I forced you into this friendship. The world may be as weird as it's ever been, but I know the same way that I know that the sun will rise in the east that you're going to do amazing, beautiful, things with your life... provided that the universe doesn't actually implode first.
> 
> I adore you. So here are some boys badly pretending they aren't flirting.

“I know the human custom of lobbying against our own desires, only to throw a fit when they’re suitably sabotaged, is particularly amusing to you —”

Kirk pauses strategically under the guise of swallowing, watching as Spock’s eyebrows travel the road from their standard bored neutrality through a brief stint of subtle confusion before coming to their final resting point of stern disapproval. 

“I am not _amused_ by your species’ predilection for applying a lack of proper reasoning to matters where a conclusion could easily satisfy all parties if only appropriate context was provided. It is simply —” and it’s Spock’s turn to fall silent as Kirk’s tempered smile finally fractures, giving way to something much warmer simmering below it.

“What, Spock?” he asks, the curious infliction of the question hardly matching the all-knowing state of his grin. “In all the vast adjectives of the English language, which _exactly_ would you choose to describe such a thing?”

Spock’s eyes shift, traveling past Kirk’s face and over his left shoulder, docking, most likely, on the clock which hangs just behind the extremely uncomfortable visitor’s chair that Kirk’s currently occupying. A snort is just barely wrangled back down in response to that thought, as if a Vulcan would ever need to do something so human as _check the time._ Kirk would bet his life that it’s only allowed to exist in Spock’s office for the very purpose it just served, disguising an eye roll well enough that nearly anyone would fall for it. Anyone who doesn’t read him so well.

But Kirk can. Regardless of the short time they’ve had together, the two of them have both become something that feels too much like cracked-spine books in each others’ libraries. The yellowed paged, soft edged kind that gives away an old favorite. 

Expression having been kicked back a few notches on the boldness scale when their eyes meet again, Spock seems to relent to the fact that he is such a horrible thing as _known._

Unable to stand such a loud quiet, Kirk calls chicken, giving in and breaking it himself. “Oh, just say it, Spock.”

And it’s amazing, truly, how much a frown that barely even exists can resemble the entire aura of a pouting toddler with their arms crossed.

“This is clearly an attempt on your part to use frustration as a means of distraction in an effort to diverge the conversation away from its actual intention.”

“You know what that sounds like a classic case of me being?” Kirk asks, cocking his head the same moment he dips it, looking askew at Spock through his lashes under too-raised brows and above a mouth that has yet to settle. 

Despite remaining silent, Spock seems to sigh in acceptance before resignation takes over, “You are being —”

“Illogical,” they finish together.

“Wow,” Kirk huffs out as he slouches into the back of his chair, badly concealing his discernible delight in poured-on disbelief. “What a plot twist.” 

“If you are finally satisfied, perhaps you will allow us to discuss —”

Elbow perching on the arm of the chair, Kirk’s cheek finds his own palm and leans into it.

“Satisfied? Never heard of it.”

_“Jim.”_

A new sensation fills the spot in his chest where he had just been desperately trying to keep a chuckle caged, in the hollow below his throat that’s cradled between his collarbones. An argument lodges itself there about unfairness, his reaction to his given name spoken in that particular tone by Spock. It’s a testament to Vulcan restraint that he doesn’t wield the weapon more often, considering its obvious effectiveness. Though Kirk wonders if a tolerance could build up under those circumstances.

Even as he knows that it wouldn’t.

“I was just trying to say — I really don’t care, Spock. I’ll practically be there under duress myself. If any part of you is going because you think I’ll take your absence personally, spare yourself.”

“You are well aware that I am a member of the Academy’s faculty,” Spock says pointedly, though the twitch that’s allowed to bloom in the corner of his mouth pulls the punch. “I am sure you already know that my position requires me to attend academic functions, provided that the event does not coincide with any official leave I have taken and that the Enterprise is to be on planet at the time. One would assume, considering you are still operating as acting Captain, that you are aware the ship is expected to spend several weeks at base undergoing preliminary hull restoration before the majority of necessary repairs can be completed in orbit.”

“ _‘Several weeks,’_ ” Kirk repeats back, the shocked tone so overplayed it falls flat as he air quotes around the words with his free hand. “How imprecise.”

But Spock plows through.

“Aside from the essential facts that I will be spending at least the next _thirty seven days_ —”

“There’s gotta be a .6 in there somewhere.”

“ —on campus and that I am obligated to attend—”

“I mean this as a compliment, but there’s no version of reality in which I am believing that you can’t aggravate your way out of something.”

“ —there also is the matter of tradition to consider.”

And this time, the snort makes it out the front gates.

“Of what, exactly?” Kirk can feel the smirk on his face, the smug flavored brand that reeks of indifference like cheap cologne, as he stares towards his feet. “Sitting in a stuffy room, golf clapping as they monotonously recite the accomplishments of people you don’t know? Or the part where you desperately try not to fall asleep during the Dean’s commencement address that he barely rewrites each year? If you’ve seen one graduation, Spock, I promise you’ve seen them all.”

“I have not seen yours.” And the words are left to stew until Kirk has no choice but to look up, just to make sure he hasn’t gone deaf and missed the ass end of a cutting quip. But Spock’s mouth is shut and his eyes are as clear as they are firm, knowing that stunning James Kirk into silence is only step one of a three round fight.

“To answer your question,” Spock, at last, continues, “I intend to participate in this year’s ceremony in the traditional role of a supportive non-family member, expressing my admiration for several members of the graduating class and that which they have achieved under extraordinary circumstances.”

“It’d be easier just to say ‘friend’, you know?”

“Agreed, which is why, in an act of solidarity as you are the one we are discussing, I chose to express myself in your favored method of behaving: difficultly.”

Yet another laugh joins them and Kirk fights this one less than the others, letting it out in a series of puffy breaths until it curls into a groan. Voice muffled behind his hands as they scrub over his face, fingers combing into his hair as he pretends to fuss with it. “Textbook dullness is all you have to look forward to, Spock. These things always are.”

“Doubtful, considering the student speaker they have deemed it wise to elect.” 

“What’s to be excited about there? You practically wrote my speech, Professor. The poor thing came back from editing so covered in red it looked like it’d bled out.”

Spock’s lips part, opening just a hair, and pause there through a tight breath. The muscles around his mouth flex like they’re sparring against a smile, so minutely it barely happens at all. The whole thing takes a second or less, and suddenly Spock’s face is back to rights so fast that anyone not watching so intently would have missed it completely. Kirk’s eyes move upwards, towards Spock’s where they’re supposed to be, at the realization.

“I have no doubt, Mr. Kirk, that the majority of my suggestions would have been thoroughly ignored in your final draft should you ever have had any intention of delivering a speech anywhere near as appropriate as the one that you sent to me.” An eyebrow raises in the expected silence that follows, Kirk refusing to act like he minds being caught. Not if it’s by Spock. "I assume your intention is to end your academic career in a manner more aligned to your conduct leading up to its conclusion.”

“And what manner would that be?”

Kirk can’t even pretend to be offended, perfectly content to be the butt of a joke when Spock’s eyes flash brighter right before saying, “A show worth watching.”

Though Kirk’s tone drives them down a street towards somber when he finally admits, “It’s going to be morbid. Half the graduating class is dead, family members being sent up to receive their diplomas, and you know they’re going to try to spin the whole thing into some twenty-first century _‘Died doing what they loved…’_ hellscape of propaganda.”

“I am sure you will have much to say about the subject.”

“It was avoidable, Spock. I shouldn’t have been the only one to make the connection, the fact that no one remembers what happened to the Kelvin is — what’s the point of long range sensors if the people stationed at them aren’t properly — and after? _Thorough Mental Health Assessment_ , my ass. The therapist had my release papers filled out before I walked into my first session with him. He had them sitting on the damn table between us when —”

“While I agree with the subject matter, I would suggest that a more concise delivery could only benefit your passion’s effectiveness.”

The slump returns to Kirk’s spine. “As if my mic won’t get cut off when so much as a word wanders out of line. They weren’t exactly subtle, demanding that I get your pre-approval.”

“A definite probability. Which is why I personally had Mr. Scott modify the auditorium’s soundboards to require a passcode before carrying out said function. Such an interruption could result in a lengthy delay. There will be a considerable number of the admiralty in attendance and with all Starfleet is currently dealing with, a disruption could be a costly misuse of their time.”

There’s a hitch in Kirk’s mental step when comprehension first rings the bell, understanding sinking in with all the grace of a stubbed toe. He used to think of himself as clever. He’d have told you, once, that his wit was sharp enough to slice through a butcher’s block. A lot has changed since meeting Spock.

“I assume you _forgot_ to notify Barnette about your little adjustment?” Kirk finds his tongue, sarcasm rolling off of it.

A tone which Spock perries with a slight tilt of his head, a perfected mask of confusion sliding into place as he offers, “The idea of informing him had not occurred to me. I assume he is engaged in more pressing matters, what with the ceremony tomorrow, and that it would most certainly be more of an inconvenience than anything to tell him now.”

“They’ll never believe you had nothing to do with it. You sure you want to be there when the shit hits the fans?” Spock looks, in response, more upset by the phrasing than he does at the prospect, his eyebrow finally quirking in the way Kirk’s learned to accept as the Vulcan equivalent to a shrug. “God, they’re going to regret letting me keep you on as my First.”

“Indeed.”

 _Lewd_ is the only way to describe the way Spock’s mouth curls up, just on one side, and just by centimeters. Such a small shift that one would have to be nearly obsessed with how Spock’s lips are normally set to tell the difference. But Kirk does, and he’s convinced you’d have to be blind not to see it.

Kirk gets up, too quickly, his knees hitting the front of Spock’s desk when he doesn’t push the chair back enough. There’s an _oof_ and a mumbled apology, cheeks that feel too warm as his arm jerks up into the rapidly increasing space between them, fingers spasming in an ineloquent wave that doesn’t befit whatever this is between them.

“Jim,” Spock calls to him. That word, that tone, that _voice_ , and Kirk stops and spins, like he’s supposed to, back towards Spock.

“Your performance at the Academy has been beyond remarkable.” Brown eyes, going soft in a way that does nothing to lessen their impact as they level on Kirk from across the cramped room. “I believe myself to be transparent in the matter, but in case there is doubt — I am proud of you.”

“Confessing to pride, Spock?” But the Vulcan’s face remains the same, in the realm of sure that Kirk never is. “They claim it’s a sin, you know? And worse — an emotion,” he tags on with a wink.

Though Spock’s, “Regardless of what else it may or may not be, it is also a fact,” siphons whatever Kirk had left of bravado.

“Yeah well,” he stutters out, rubbing at the back of his neck until he’s mentally kicking himself, imagining the skin having been worked pink enough for Spock to notice as he makes his second attempt at leaving. “I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow then.”

And the next day, and the next, and the —

The door shutting behind him on Spock’s, “I would not miss it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly thank you to my brain for allowing me to turn you on long enough to get this out. I know it's been awhile.
> 
> But truly, shout out to Page for putting up with me for some reason and for writing her own lovely stories over on [her own AO3.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pageling/pseuds/Pageling)
> 
> And to [bcrush](https://bcrush.tumblr.com/) for once again letting me lie to you about being able to spell literally anything.
> 
> Till next time, if you're looking for someone to scream into the unyielding abyss with you, you can find me at [GrumpyBonesey](https://grumpybonesey.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
